Deadworld

by John Macallen Davis

  “Spaghetti, Gatorade, Hershey bars-”

  “Hershey?” A.K. asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come here and take this gun kid,” A.K. replied.

  Hershey bars had been his favorite snack during the workday, back when he was rounding up convicts for a living and not eluding zombies.

  “OK.” Derick replied with a little bit of surprise.

  They swapped spots at the window and A.K. wasted no time ripping the dark brown and silver wrapper off of a candy bar. His teeth bit into the smooth chocolate like a lover's first time. It went slow and meaningful.

  “You like your chocolate, huh?” Derick asked with a smile.

  Turning back to the window, he nearly fired the group's one and only revolver by accident. A wicked had found them and began doing what it could to smash in the front window – pounding its white fleshy fists against the older glass.

  “We need to go.” he said.

  “OK, out the back.” A.K. replied.

  He quickly took his revolver back but didn't dare shoot it. The last thing they needed was a large pack of zombies coming, too. They could take out a handful of the wicked easy enough, so they opted for stealth.

  “Stay behind me.” Derick said.

  He threw one arm back to corral Brooke, his lover. He'd taken it upon himself to become her protector, thus giving himself a reason to wake up each morning and deal with what the world had become – a world that was now as dark as a ditch digger's boots.

  First out the door, Derick wasted no time sinking his knife's blade into the skull of a wicked. It generally took a lot to kill the rotting bastards, but a shard of steel directly into the brain seemed to do the trick just right. He had a tough time pulling it back out, and finally used one of his legs to kick the flabby dead mass away from him. Spotting a second wicked rounding the corner of the house, he grabbed his lover by the hand.

  “Brooke, get to that fence.”

  She'd proven herself to be the average college-aged kid, especially in the face of a plague that now had the dead up and walking. She did what Derick told her to and began crying in the process. Crying for what, mercy? Perhaps the dead would call “time out” and come over to console her? Doubtful – they'd eat the flesh off of her bones the same as they would anyone else, making Derick's job even tougher.

  He sprinted over to the zombie that had planned to meet him head-on. At the last second, Derick jumped back, causing the over-anxious wicked to stumble. He'd then pierce its throat with his blade and be done with it. He glanced back to see Brooke trying her best to climb the fence. It was a tall one, made of red boards. Whoever had built it sure did respect their privacy. They also ate a lot of canned Spam.

  “Shit.” Derick said as he rushed to help her.

  A gunshot rang off from inside the house and he should have gone back to help A.K. instead, but the former prison guard didn't mean the world to him in the same way that Brooke did. She was his reason for living now, not a slightly overweight man who pretended to care about them in return. He hoped A.K. would survive but wouldn't lose sleep over it if he didn't.

  Just then, A.K. came sprinting out of the house's back door and ran with purpose in each stride. Enough to worry both Derick and Brooke.

  “Haul ass!” A.K. yelled out.

  He was quickly followed by a wicked – not the everyday variety, either. Derick could tell by its cautious stride that it was an alpha. A thinker. One of the few wicked that had retained the ability to reason.

  “Oh shit.” Derick said.

  “What?” Brooke asked in a panic.

  “I need to get you over this fence right now, that's what,” He bent at the knees and cupped his hands to give her a boost up. “Get over the fence and run a few hundred yards straight out. Get into the treeline and wait. If you see us come, stay put. If this thing gets the best of us you'll see it hop the fence. If so, run harder than you ever have before.”

  Again with the crying. He loved her – well he loved the need for her, so he let it roll off his shoulders. She'd need to toughen up, though, and if he somehow managed to survive the fight in front of him, he planned on telling her just that.

  “A little help!” A.K. barked.

  Derick gave his lover a quick boost over the fence and was pretty sure she'd landed rough on the other side, but there was no time to check. He spun around to see the alpha, now only feet away from A.K. and it was looking him over thoroughly.

  “I can only get a single shot off before it pounces me,” A.K. said. “I think it knows that. It's waiting for me to try, and then when I miss-”

  “Don't miss.” Derick replied.

  “Why don't you come in on it with that knife of yours.”

  “And if I miss?

  More wicked began filing out of the back door. The more lethargic, less intelligent kind. If the dead truly did have an agenda, these were the soldiers.

  “We've got company.” Derick said.

  He and A.K. both moved their eyes to the oncoming horde and that's all it took. In that singular moment, the alpha dashed for the fence.

  “Shit!” A.K. fired with panic.

  He hit the alpha, but the slug exited its thigh just as quickly as it entered. Moments later, the alpha zombie was over the fence, leaving nothing but its memory – a bloodless face, a blue work shirt, and jeans.

  “Brooke!” Derick yelled. He gave chase but was much slower than the alpha. Meanwhile, A.K. turned to begin firing into the horde of the dead that was approaching.

  Carlos held his hand up and waited.

  “Could have been anyone.” Gordon said.

  “True,” the former convict replied. “But it was a revolver and that's what A.K. was carrying. It's the only lead we have right now.”

  “So we just go in, guns blazing?” Lamar asked.

  It was a foolish idea. Death by a zombie, most likely.

  “No. You and Pam stay put. It's safe here and we can go check it out.” Carlos said.

  “Why me?” Gordon asked.

  “Because I can use some muscle down there and you look like you just ate someone with muscle.”

  After a brief stare down Gordon smiled.

  “Give us thirty minutes.” Carlos said.

  Lamar nodded and held the group's supplies close to the ground. Not out of willingness, but rather out of the fact that they weighed so damn much.

  There was no plan to be drawn up, just a convict and his muscle sprinting toward the recent sound of gunshots.

  -

  “Derick, get up! I need your help.” A.K. yelled.

  Instead, Derick continued to kneel over what was left of Brooke's body and cried as hard as he could remember. The same way he cried the day a State Police officer showed up on their doorstep to let them know about his sister. She'd been killed by a drunk driver nearly ten years before, and for a moment he remembered how badly he hated people.

  “Derick!” A.K. fired his last remaining bullet and there was no time to stop and reload. The alpha had been hit twice, but they were only flesh wounds. The type of hits that wouldn't have stopped a man, much less a ravenous zombie.

  To hell with it, he'd take his fate. Derick chose to remain on the ground and let the will of the Almighty run its course. Meanwhile, A.K. did what he could to fight the spawn of hell off. Unlike his weeping friend, A.K. wanted to live.

  Suddenly, both men held their ears. The alpha fell and a plume of smoke rose from the end of Carlos' shotgun. It would seem that God wasn't done with Derick just yet.

  “Old friend.” A.K. lifted his revolver. It was as useless as rubber lips on a woodpecker, but Carlos didn't know it.

  “We all have a lot of history together.” Carlos said.

  “Bad history.” A.K. replied.

  “Both,” Carlos glanced down to Derick. “Her blood's on your hands.”

  “Fuck you!” Derick yelled.

  He'd meant to jump to his feet and begin chopping away on the former convict, but having a shotg
un moved into his direction changed all of that.

  “This needs to end the right way.” Carlos said.

  “Oh, yeah?” A.K. asked. Still holding his worthless pistol up proudly. “How so?”

  “The truth is that that fence isn't gonna hold those wicked off forever. Like I said, we all have a history together, but the truth is that I trust you both a hell of a lot more than anyone else we're going to run into out here.”

  “So you still want to play nice?” A.K. asked.

  “I think we all just need to come to a little understanding. Pretty much everyone we've ever loved is gone; people we considered family. This is our family now. Families have their spats, but at the end of the day they look out for one another.”

  “Yeah.” Gordon added.

  “Yeah?” Derick began. “Ben wants me dead!”

  “And I don't blame him.” Carlos began.

  “His brother was one of them!” Derick replied. “You know that!”

  “I do,” Carlos admitted. “And I also know that if Brooke had been turned into one of the thinking ones, you'd do your best to protect her, too.”

  He could see his statement pierce through Derick's hardened exterior and strike home. Finally, the former oxygen delivery man understood what he'd done.

  “Either way, Ben's no longer with us and if he comes looking for you I'll deal with it.” Carlos promised.

  “And why would you do that?” Derick asked.

  “Because we're family now, like it or not.”

  “I don't like it,” A.K. said. “But the son of a bitch has a point.”

  “What?” Derick asked. Feeling as though he'd been betrayed.

  “You and me, look at us. We aren't gonna last long out here kid.”

  “If we trust each other we can all make it. There's strength in numbers out here. Besides, I happen to know a former waitress who misses you.” Carlos said.

  Pam. Derick thought. He didn't say it and didn't have to. Being incarcerated had trained Carlos to be devilishly good at reading people.

  “So here it is: we can either stand here until the wicked get past that privacy fence and let them get whoever they go after first, or we can put these guns down and become one big old happy family.” Carlos said.

  “Shit,” A.K. shook his head. “It was out of bullets anyway.”

  Lowering his pistol, the former corrections officer turned to Derick.

  “I'm in. But if Ben shows back up.”

  “I'll handle it.” Carlos said.

  “How do you plan on doing that?” A.K. asked.

  Carlos' look was all the answer he needed.

  “We gotta give this girl a proper burial.” Gordon said.

  “That fence isn't holding,” A.K. replied. They could see the privacy fence beginning to bow with tension as even more dead stacked up. “We're going to have to leave her. Sorry kid.”

  Derick toughened up and wiped tears from his cheeks. What other choice did he have? Her body still remained, but Brooke was long gone.

  -

  As they walked down a small pathway of dirt, Derick caught sight of Pam right away. He could also feel the tension between them. Rather than sprinting off into her arms (which part of him wanted to do), he sat down on a fallen tree and began running one of his hands through his hair.

  “Brooke didn't make it.” Carlos said.

  Pam remained strong but her heart was with Derick at that very moment. She understood what kind of pain he must have been dealing with.

  “We'd planned on finding a place to lay low for a while on Lake Norman. There are plenty of nice houses up that way. I figured they'd have thicker doors and plenty of locks, seeing as how the wealthy like to lock their shit up.” A.K. said.

  “Pretty good thinking.” Lamar admitted.

  “We'd talked about heading north to Washington, figuring on either a heavy military presence or at the least, a few government bunkers. But maybe we can all head up to Lake Norman and ride it out for a little while? Washington isn't going anywhere.” Carlos said.

  “I'm good with that.” A.K. replied.

  “And Derick?”

  “He's sorting through a lot of shit right now. I left off with 'em because I didn't think Brooke and him could make it out here alone.” A.K. replied.

  “Just stay with him and Pam, maybe you could talk to him?” Carlos asked.

  “I'm not sure.” she replied.

  “I'm on it.” Lamar said.

  Carlos nodded, grabbing as many of the group's supplies as he could carry and leaving the rest for everyone else. “Someone lead the way.”

  -

  “It's not your fault, you know?” Lamar asked.

  The small group had walked for just under an hour, sticking to the treeline in hopes of not being spotted. The idea was simple enough: the wicked seemed to stick to the heavily-populated areas – cities, towns, etc. They all knew there would come a time when the wicked quit finding survivors and began venturing out to look for anything they could find. The zombies thought of eating, and nothing more. For now, that meant their group could travel with minimal encounters as long as they didn't get stupid about it. Stupid got you killed. So they stayed hidden beneath the cloak of trees and walked in several very small groups in the event of an ambush.

  “Yeah I know,” Derick replied. “It still doesn't help in the end, though. Two women have died on my watch.”

  “It was their time to go,” Lamar began. “We're living in a different time now. It's gonna happen.”

  “Pam won't even talk to me.” Derick said, turning to his old friend.

  “She doesn't know what to say,” Lamar began. “Man, we all gotta deal with this in different ways. I've been trying to keep myself so busy with planning that I don't really have a lot of time to think about what's going on. I think Pam is trying to remember what things used to be like. Maybe it helps her deal with things in her own way.”

  “I'll be right back.” Derick nodded.

  He hurried up his pace and finally caught up with Pam, who walked by herself and trailed most of the group except for Lamar and Derick.

  “I need to talk to you.” he blurted out.

  Pam turned to listen but offered nothing in return.

  “Couple of pancakes, three strips of bacon and a glass of orange juice.”

  Without warning, Pam draped her arms around his neck and began to cry. Derick let her. He understood the need and had cried plenty of times himself over the past few weeks. Carlos turned to look over his shoulder and smiled. He was the patriarch of this family and right now, he could see it healing slowly.

  “I'm sorry,” Derick began. “I just...we are all dealing with this differently. You know?”

  “I know.” Pam replied. She made a serious effort to dry her tears, but wiping the smile from her face was impossible. He'd given her the same order he'd placed day in and day out before the world went to hell. In doing so, he'd given her just a few moments of normalcy.

  The rest of their walk would be quiet for the most part. Eventually, after several hours of hiking through dense forest, the path evened out and the trees began to dissipate. They had arrived at the outer edge of Lake Norman.

  The entire area looked like one big ass golf course. It was certainly nothing that any of them were used to. This group of survivors had in some way, shape or form been the working class once upon a time. Of all the houses (mansions, really), the group had decided on 210 Yemon Road. It was more of a compound, at least the way they had thought of it. Three sides of the house were blocked off by water and the fourth was blocked by a massive iron gate. From a tactical standpoint, the location made sense.

  There also happened to be zombies walking about. Lots and lots of zombies between the group and their desired location.

  “How the hell are we supposed to get through?” A.K. asked.

  “I've got a plan.” Lamar replied.

  Chapter 11

  “You sure this gonna work?” Derick asked.

&nbs
p; “No,” Lamar replied.

  “Good,” Derick said, shaking his head. “There for a minute I was worried that this plan of yours might not work.”

  Lamar turned to his friend and smiled.

  “Just remember, we gotta smash in windows until we hear an alarm – then duck. This is a rich neighborhood so they should have plenty of alarms on their vehicles. We don't run – we duck, then wait for the others to start smashing.”

  “How many ways can this plan go south?” Derick asked.

  “Well, if we run before the others are ready, we'll end up stranding them out here to die. Then again, if we duck and wait and they can't find another car alarm, the wicked will eventually pin us down and kill us.”

  “Oh.”

  “It's cool though,” Lamar began. “We've picked out the most expensive cars on the street. Now we just need to go from there.”

  “Who's doing the honors?” Derick asked.

  Lamar nudged his friend along with an empty hand. Derick wasted no time; he wrapped his fist up with a thick red shirt and smashed his fist through the driver's side window of a rather pricey Mercedes. Immediately, his wrist began stinging like a dog's ass to flame. He pulled it back and clenched his teeth. Worse, even, was the fact that he heard nothing aside from small pieces of glass hitting the pavement.

  “Shit, no alarm,” Lamar said.

  “Damn.” Derick bitched under his breath.

  “We're gonna have to smash another.”

  Derick had been so quick to smash the first window, never realizing how much of a fight tempered glass put up. Now he had to do it again? He'd surely regret it later but was prepared to do what needed to be done. They remained ducked close to the pavement and moved ahead several feet to get beside a large white SUV.